The Captive by Joanne Rock

sheflipped her skirts back into place, so that you’d never know she hid things there.
    He crouched at the foot of the pallet, hands clasped between his thighs. Waiting.
    “You do not seem concerned if outlaws discover us and you know Alchere’s pursuit is highly unlikely, yet I can see you are anxious about whatever—whoever—is out there.” Her fingers splayed over the fur the same way she’d touched him earlier.
    Did he dare let his guard down enough to take her tonight? To return to the pleasures they’d only just begun to explore?
    Curse the fates. If his window of time with her was shrinking, he would make the most of every second.
    “A Dane is never anxious.” He reached to touch her ankle just below the hem of her skirt. Her stocking covered her skin, but there was something sweetly forbidden about touching her there. He ringed her ankle with his fingers like a manacle, then tugged her down the length of the pallet. Closer to him. “But if I give the matter additional thought, it is only because I have a woman in my care to consider. I take that guardianship seriously.”
    Not allowing her time to think, he stalked her. He stretched out over her, liking the way she did not show the least bit of hesitation.
    If anything, her eyes narrowed in sensual speculation, as if she tried to calculate what might happen next.
    “You must take good care of me,” she demanded, her fingers lifting to the ties of his tunic and loosening them. “I agree completely.”
    The desire for her that had been interrupted earlier came roaring back tenfold with no more than the soft brush of her fingertips against his chest.
    No matter what the future held for them, countriesand worlds apart, he planned to have this night with her—together—to remember forever.
     
    G WENDOLYN COULDN’T UNDRESS him fast enough.
    The scare they’d had had given her new perspective on her time with Wulf. It might not last long. If she didn’t act now, tonight, she might lose the chance to be touched with tenderness and passion. Why should she not enjoy every moment?
    Her hands fumbled awkwardly at ties and clasps, her inexperience apparent. But when she freed him of his tunic, her reward was stark masculine beauty that she would have appreciated even without the glow of the low fire in the hearth.
    She recalled an illustration her father had shown her once from a Latin text.
    This is a Titan, Gwennie. A race of giants.
    Wulf looked like that illustration. The memory had faded and would have been lost if not for this moment with Wulf. He could have walked among the Titans with his strong, straight shoulders and his steely chest cut like armor but sheathed in warm skin that came alive beneath her touch.
    She was so enamored by all she’d unveiled that she scarcely noticed her own clothes disappearing until a wave of cool air hit her bare legs. He dragged her under dress up her body and over her head, exposing her completely. Even her stockings had given way to his hands, drooping down her ankles and sliding away from her feet.
    “You are much better at this than I,” she complained, returning to the fastenings of his braies.
    “It is a matter of focus,” he explained, as if undressing her were a topic for serious consideration. “I forcemyself not to get distracted by the prize so that I can work quickly.”
    He reached to help her with the ties, then arched up to remove the pants altogether.
    “I’m afraid there is a great deal more to distract me,” she admitted. “In fact, I can’t take my eyes off the prize.”
    She marveled at the size of him. Everywhere. Her mouth went dry as a whisper of the old reservations returned.
    Wulf hastened to lie back down beside her and cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to his.
    “Do not worry,” he ordered, charming her anew with his oddly thoughtful demands. “You will think about the kisses.”
    His chest pressed to hers and she felt her body mold to his. Would the rest fit so well?
    “I